The Swick and the Dead

by Maggie Foster

  “Did I understand her correctly? Grace has been supplying a community of illegal aliens with illegally obtained drugs?” Margot looked scandalized.

  Ginny frowned. “More than that. I think she’s been advising them, which would mean practicing medicine without a license.”

  “Surely not!”

  Ginny’s frown deepened. “When did Grace go missing?”

  “She called in sick last night, then didn’t show up tonight.”

  “I think we need to find her.” Ginny looked at Fergus. “Let’s try her home.”

  He followed her out of the unit, dropping his voice. “You think she may have fled?”

  Ginny pushed the elevator button then turned to face him. “Let’s just hope it’s nothing worse.”

  * * *

  Chapter 50

  Day 20 – Wednesday late evening

  Grace Edward’s residence / Forbes residence

  It was a small house, almost a cottage, with no signs of life. They parked on the street, got out, and approached the building, Fergus in front, his weapon out. Ginny watched as he looked around, then turned and gestured for her to join him on the front porch. He put his gun back in the holster, but Ginny noticed he didn’t secure it.

  “Try the doorbell,” he said.

  Ginny did. When that didn’t work, she knocked, loudly. No response.

  “Let’s try the back.”

  Ginny again waited while Fergus checked out the area, then knocked. Still no answer. By now she was getting nervous.

  “Guess we missed her,” Fergus said.

  Ginny looked around. There was no evidence of a disturbance, and it was possible Grace had suddenly decided she wanted to visit relatives. But without telling anyone?

  She put her eye to one of the windows that flanked the door. The room beyond was in darkness.

  “If she felt responsible for the death of that child,” she said, “she might have done something drastic. I wish I knew whether she’s lying on the floor in there or just out shopping.”

  She turned to find Fergus easing the door open. “Give me a minute.” He pulled a set of night-vision goggles out of his jacket and put them on, then slipped inside.

  Ginny leaned against the wall, listening to the sound of the wind in the dry trees and small animals scurrying for shelter, and waited. He was beside her before she knew it.

  “There’s no one home.” He turned back to the door and closed it, making sure the lock engaged. “Her car’s gone, too. The presumption is that she’s left town.”

  “I thought only the guilty ran?”

  “If she’s responsible for that boy dying, she’s guilty. If she’s not, then she might still be guilty of something else.”

  “True.”

  They drove back to the Forbes’ house, then climbed the stairs to Ginny’s office. She pulled out the camera, extracted the memory card, and plugged it into the reader attached to her computer.

  “Let’s see what’s on this.” She scrolled through the images, Fergus hanging over her shoulder. “It appears to be motion-activated. Here’s Lisa, planting cocaine in Phyllis’ locker at three o’clock on the morning Phyllis died.” Ginny looked up at Fergus. “You hadn’t heard about that bit, had you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Here’s someone in PPE entering the women’s rest room at three-eighteen—which corresponds to the time Grace’s badge says she entered—followed by Phyllis at three-twenty.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  Ginny’s brow furrowed. “I should have thought of that earlier.”

  “Thought of what?”

  “The Personal Protective Equipment is generally used to keep germs from spreading outside a patient’s room, but there’s an exception. If the patient is immunocompromised, the PPE is used to prevent the germs normal, healthy people have on them from reaching the patient. Reverse Isolation. Grace had an immunocompromised patient that night. It’s the one time a nurse can wear PPE out of the room without getting fined for an infection control violation.”

  “Interesting.” Fergus pointed at the next image. “There you are going in at three-thirty.”

  “And back out again at three thirty-five.”

  “You saw nothing?”

  “And heard nothing. I thought I was alone.”

  They flicked through the images, all stills, since the camera wasn’t set up for video. When they reached the point where Ginny found the body, Fergus dropped into the extra chair, and looked at her.

  “Well!”

  “It’s not proof.”

  “It’s proof she lied.”

  “But not proof she murdered.”

  “The images you saw on Zimmerman’s kitchen table show Grace going in and Grace coming out, date/time stamped. That’s evidence.”

  Ginny nodded. “Was he going to turn them over to the police?”

  “I think not.” Fergus stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankle, his elbows on the arms of the chair. “Marjorie’s diary said the blackmail demands didn’t stop after Phyllis died.”

  Ginny nodded. “And I was present when she realized the perp might have been using a voice changer.”

  “So she looked elsewhere, and found Isaac.”

  “And eliminated him.”

  Fergus nodded. “Yes, but not before he saw these photos. I think he realized what they meant and was planning to use them to blackmail Grace. He’d gotten away with it once, or thought he had. Here was another ready-made victim.”

  Ginny frowned. “He got greedy.”

  “We don’t know when he planted the camera trap. He might have just gotten lucky.” Fergus stretched, then climbed to his feet. “It’s after midnight. Why don’t you get some sleep?”

  “You go ahead. I have some thinking to do.”

  Ginny pulled up her files and settled down to add the new evidence. Along about one a.m., she descended to the kitchen, got herself a cup of coffee, then went back to work, smiling at Fergus as she climbed the stairs. He nodded, then went back to his magazine.

  * * *

  Thursday wee small hours of the morning

  Forbes residence

  In the deepest part of the night Fergus dropped into the empty chair in Ginny’s office and faced her across the desk.

  “How’s it going?”

  She sighed. “I’m in the same boat I was in before. When you line up all the facts, it looks like a solid case, but the evidence is all circumstantial. I know that can be enough in a court of law, but suppose we ask her and she denies it?”

  “If she doesn’t come back, it’s as good as an admission of guilt.”

  “You don’t know that. She might be ill or injured or dead.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “The timing is suspicious.”

  Ginny leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “You sound very sure of yourself. Is this what you do, track down missing persons?”

  “You mean for money? Occasionally.”

  Ginny’s brow furrowed. “How do you find someone who wants to stay lost?”

  He shrugged. “People go where they usually go and do what they usually do, thinking no one will notice. Also, there’s a lot of psychology involved. It’s human nature to believe what you want to believe.”

  The corner of Ginny’s mouth twitched. “Like when you were teasing Margot this evening?”

  He put his hand over his heart. “I meant every word. Most women are beautiful and don’t know it. We men should tell them more often.”

  Ginny stared at her cousin. “Who are you? I mean, I look at you and see a soldier, not a poet.”

  He laughed. “My mother used to say I would have made a good bard, but the pay’s lousy. I have a degree in philosophy and another in psychology. They come in very handy, most of the time.” He lifted his ankle and set it on his knee. “Jim is easy to read. An open book. You, on the other hand, I’m having trouble figuring out.”

  Ginny’s eyebrows rose. “I’m told my face gives away what I
’m thinking.”

  “Oh, it does, but not why. For instance, I’ve seen you raise your voice to Angus Mackenzie, but not to Jim. Why is that?”

  Ginny thought about it for a moment. “He has earned my patience.”

  Fergus nodded. “Okay. You have a history. I got that. But at some point you’re going to have to confront him. What are you waiting for?”

  Ginny’s brow wrinkled, wondering just how much she wanted to share with this man. “I don’t want to burn any bridges.”

  Fergus shook his head. “That man will go to his grave still head over heels in love with you.” He brought his foot down and leaned forward. “But, he doesn’t understand you. You’re going to have to teach him.”

  Ginny sketched a helpless little gesture. “I’ve tried.”

  “Can you give me an example?”

  Ginny nodded, remembering and not wanting to. “He condescends, sometimes, because he’s a doctor and I’m just a nurse, as if it was a second-class career choice.”

  Fergus lifted an eyebrow. “You’re smart enough. Why did you choose to be a nurse, rather than a physician?”

  Ginny took her time answering. “I was offered a place in medical school, but turned it down. Doctors don’t spend much time with the patients. It’s the nurses who are there 24/7; guarding, encouraging, grieving. Drugs and treatments can help, but it’s the human contact that really matters.” She took a breath. “Your turn. Tell me something about yourself. What’s your relationship with Angus?”

  Fergus’ gaze turned inward. “He saved my life.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s not a very original story. Adolescent rebellion gone too far. My father took the issue to our laird, who called Angus Mackenzie. He took me into the wilderness for a week of heart to heart man talk. I wasn’t sure I was going to live through it. It really hurt to have to admit I didn’t already know everything worth knowing.”

  “I know how that feels.”

  “He did it to you, too?”

  “He did.” She smiled across the desktop. “A wise soldier would make a good laird.”

  “In time of war, yes. Not in times of peace.”

  “We won’t always be at peace.”

  “I’m not the heir. He’s a good friend, though, and smart. I expect he’ll let me help. I like to help, just like you.” He leaned forward again. “So, are you going to let me?”

  “Do what?”

  “Help you make up your mind about Jim.”

  Ginny caught her breath. “What can you do?”

  He smiled. “I can think of a half dozen things right off the bat, but let’s start with talking. What are your reservations?”

  Ginny stared at the relative who was a stranger and thought about family. “He’s still new here.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  Ginny felt the hairs rise on her arms. “That isn’t the issue. You can know someone for years and not know them at all.”

  “True.”

  She was struggling to explain. “It’s a huge risk, loving someone.”

  “Also true, but is it better to take that risk or stay safe?”

  Ginny frowned. “The last time I took a chance on a man, I ended up regretting it and, no, it wasn’t Jim. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for him.”

  Fergus studied her for a moment. “He saved your life, but it wasn’t enough.”

  “It should have been enough. I mean, if I were a normal woman.”

  Fergus’ eyebrows rose. “A normal woman would have fallen at his feet in gratitude?”

  Ginny squirmed. “Isn’t that what the damsel in distress is supposed to do?”

  He laughed. “I’ve rescued a few damsels and it hasn’t happened to me, yet.”

  Ginny took a deep breath. “One of Jim’s—our—problems is that he wants to protect me, to shove me into the nearest stockade and bar the door.”

  Fergus smiled. “And you’re afraid you’ll miss out on the fun.”

  “It’s more than that. It means he considers me part of the problem.”

  Fergus sighed. “Well, I can understand his wanting to keep you safe. It’s a male instinct.”

  “I’m perfectly willing to turn tail and run, if I think it’s the best choice, but I want it to be my choice, not his.”

  Fergus' brow furrowed. “You’re afraid marrying him will mean handing your independence over to him.”

  “Won’t it?”

  He settled back in the chair and crossed his arms. “It depends on the type of man he is. If all he wants is a dutiful wife who cooks and cleans and keeps the home fires burning, you may have a problem. A man who leaves his wife to do all the grunt work while he goes off adventuring is likely to end up with an unsanctioned playmate and an unhappy wife.”

  Ginny’s brow furrowed. The idea of Jim cheating on her with another woman wasn’t one she had considered.

  Fergus continued. “If he’s the kind of man who wants intellectual companionship, he won’t find it by insisting he knows best. Sometimes smart women are smarter than their men.”

  “That’s not the case. At least, I don’t think so. But I do want his respect.”

  Fergus smiled. “Then tell him so, and I wouldn’t wait too long.”

  Ginny sighed, then nodded. “It’s not fair to keep him dangling if I’m going to decide against him in the end.”

  There was a pause. “Is that a possibility?” Fergus rose from his chair and started toward her.

  Ginny watched him approach, a male animal, approaching the female, cautiously, aware she might run—or turn and rend him.

  Some men, maybe most, would have stood over her and looked down. Some might have perched on the edge of the desk, one leg dangling, still looking down on her. He did neither. He sank to his haunches and looked up.

  Ginny found her heart pounding, the air between them electric. It seemed her psyche split into two personalities, one ancient and instinctual, the other modern and cerebral, at war with one another, and the older brain was winning. He held out his hand, palm up and she found herself placing hers in it.

  “Whatever happens, Cousin,” he said, “I want you to know you can call on me. Anytime, anywhere.” He lifted her hand to his lips and Ginny felt her bones turn to water. He held her gaze for a moment longer, then released her, rose, and left the room.

  Ginny felt dizzy, her head pounding. She gulped air and tried to talk herself down.

  Men! She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. Dear God! Why did He make men? Or women either, for that matter. And why this devastating hunger? Passion wasn’t enough. You needed wisdom as well. Wisdom and courage and kindness.

  She closed her eyes and let her head sink forward onto her arms. She wasn’t at all sure this little talk with Fergus had helped. It had shown her how vulnerable she was. Trust Jim? What she needed was to be able to trust herself!

  * * *

  Chapter 51

  Day 21 – Thursday morning, Fifth Day of Christmas

  Forbes residence

  At nine a.m. on the Fifth Day of Christmas, Fergus pushed open the door of Ginny’s office and stepped inside. She turned bleary eyes in his direction, then went back to work.

  He studied her for a moment. Angus had asked him only to keep her safe, but he was beginning to think he could do more. Starting with those dark shadows under her eyes. He walked over and ran a hand down her back.

  “Come on. Bedtime. You’ve done all you can here.”

  She shook her head. “I’m missing something.”

  “Well, your brain will work better if you get some sleep. Why don’t you try?”

  She sighed heavily. “You’re right.” She stood up, pushing her chair back, and stumbled into his arms. He turned her toward the door, steered her down the hall, and made sure she entered her bedroom, wishing her a good sleep, then settling down in the chair he had positioned in the hallway, to think.

  Ginny had chosen to trust Jim, but that didn’t make him trustworthy. Fergus knew his jo
b too well to take anything at face value. His eyes narrowed. There had been a moment when he’d seen Ginny flinch. Jim’s response had been pain, then stoicism. Not satisfaction, not triumph. None of the usual marks of an abuser. But there was something there.

  Fergus frowned to himself. He needed to know more. He pulled out his phone and sent a message to Angus. Within minutes he had an appointment to see the Laird. He rose, made his way downstairs and located Mrs. Forbes.

  “I’m going over to Brochaber to talk to Angus. Ginny’s in bed and should sleep. Can you stay here and make sure she doesn’t leave?”

  Sinia Forbes nodded. “School’s out for the Christmas holiday and I’ve got plenty of things to do around the house. Let me know when you get back.”

  “Yes ma’am. Thank you.”

  Fergus let himself out and headed toward the Laird’s residence. What he wanted was insight. What had Ginny meant when she said Jim had saved her life? Why was she afraid to confront him? And, if push came to shove, could Jim Mackenzie be counted on to have a man’s back?

  * * *

  Ginny lay on her bed and tried to shut her brain off, but it didn’t work. She’d been over those files a dozen times by now and could see them with her eyes closed. With Marjorie Hawkins exonerated of Phyllis’ murder, the most likely suspect was Grace Edmunds. And Grace was missing.

  Detective Tran knew all of this, of course. Ginny had held nothing back, except about Fergus breaking into Grace’s house to make sure she wasn’t a corpse. When did suspicion become probable cause and license to violate a citizen’s privacy?

  Because that’s all she had. Suspicion. And she’d been wrong before. Terribly wrong. Stupidly, devastatingly, get-Jim-killed wrong. She shivered at the memory.

  With the dawn had come additional images from Detective Tran. The police had found Isaac’s stash of incriminating photographs. Tran had sent three showing Phyllis and Grace fighting under the bridge, two men in the background, watching. According to Tran, one was a known cartel drug dealer, currently enjoying the hospitality of the Dallas jail. They were working on identifying the man in the suit.